Everyone Has A Price
by Arni
Summary: Everyone Has A Price. Our lives are the sum total of what we do with them. Working is what they do to pay the bills.
1. Saying Sorry

Author's Note: Set directly after Half-Wit. Enjoy.

* * *

Screwing up wasn't good for business. Whether it was his screw up or theirs, either way it caused problems. Consequently, sometimes he has to swallow his pride and deal with the more distasteful elements of humanity. Fellows. Ugh.

Clenching the doorknob he pulled the glass door open, warmth and noise spilling around him, a wave of empathy and emotion that threatened to wash him away. Reminding himself of the potential consequences if he doesn't go through with this is enough to push him through the door. The hostess takes one look at him, not a restaurant face in any way, shape or form, but her professionalism shines through.

"Welcome to the White Lion! Do you have a reservation this evening?" If not for the slightly insincere smile, he might actually feel welcome.

"Just seeing some colleagues. Won't be long." Flashing a grim smile clears the road for him quite effectively. Now the difficult bit, his cane tap-tapping as he strolls towards their table. She sees him, eyes not even moving but he knows she sees him.

Coming to a stop, he peers down at Chase.

"That seat taken?" Why couldn't he just go home, take a few vicodin and mellow out inside a bottle. From in there, this view would probably be pleasant. As it was, Cameron's disappointment, Chase's disapproval and Foreman's disgust was painful. It's not like he tried to mess up. They were too damn good at their jobs.

Chase starts to move as the girl and the thief pipe up with contradictory answers. Smirking at Foreman, he sits uncomfortably.

"Sorry Foreman, democracy trumps minority."

"What do you want House? Meeting your coke dealer?" She had an acerbic tongue when she was mad.

"If I were here for cocaine, I'd be in the bathroom not hanging out with you squares."

Foreman interjected, "What do you want, House?"

Go time. "To say I'm sorry. So... I'm sorry." Could've been less snarky. Still, probably not what they were expecting, given the silence.

"I realise that you were trying to help me, however misguided that notion might have been. If you weren't so irritatingly good at doing your jobs, well, you get what I'm saying."

Reaching out he stole and drained Chase's as yet untouched beer, slamming the glass down and standing.

"I'll tell her to send over another round." Taking to his heels before anybody could say anything seems like the best thing to do. They can take it or leave it, he tried.

Passing the hostess, he pauses, opening his wallet and extracting a credit card and handing it over.

"This pays for them. Run it when they ask for the cheque, then give it to the girl with the receipt."

He failed to hear what she said as he left, but it probably wasn't important, not as important as a vicodin anyway. The walk home was much nicer after that.

* * *

It was well past midnight when his doorbell rang. Wilson would let himself in, so when it rang again, he began the painful process of jacking himself up off the couch. Limping to the door, cane nowhere in sight, he leant against the frame to look through the peephole. Apparently his credit card was ringing the doorbell.

Swinging the door open, he turned his back, heading back to the couch. Sitting he looked over at her, what now.

"Could've brought that back tomorrow. Or Monday." Rough words, soft voice. She just smiled, moving to sit on the couch and nearly ending up in the remains of his dinner. Shifting the plate to the coffee table gingerly, she replied.

"I wanted to say thank you."

"Why? For buying you a meal? Most people would say I owed you. Dying trumps dinner." Of course, she isn't most people, the thought of him dying was probably a massive turn-on. He had to try hard to avoid smirking at his own joke.

"No. For showing you cared."

"I said sorry. Don't try to make this into something it isn't."

He hardly believed himself. Damn Wilson and his bright ideas. Why was she still here, she needs to leave before he says something stupid, he can feel it. Sinking into the couch, her pupils uneven in the darkness, watching him, she needs to leave right now.

Concentrating on the TV made it easier to hurt her, "Still fucking Chase?"

She spits, "Is that any of your business?"

Concentrating on his warm scotch, "Do you want it to be?" That spark is still there, she still feels something otherwise she wouldn't be looking at him quite like _that_. The distance between them is both too little and far too great. Her smirk is disconcerting, she doesn't smirk.

"Do you want to know what he thought we should do while searching this mess?" Admitting it was her idea might be a little too much disclosure for either of them.

"Gee, that's a tough one. Can I phone a friend? I guess I have to wash my sheets then."

"We didn't do anything, House."

His eyes roll, "No! I couldn't have predicted that unexpected turn of events. You're not that honest." He snorts, finishing his drink and standing to fetch another. She watches his ass, not drunk, but certainly not sober enough to say no to a good thing.

When he returns with two drinks, she raises an eyebrow, "Who said I was staying?"

"You don't look like you're going anywhere to me. Might as well have a drink while you're not going anywhere." The tumbler nestled between her fingers, undecided as to whether she should say no or fall further down the rabbit hole. She falls, the scotch burning all the way down.

The silence burns worse than the scotch though, neither willing to drink the potion or eat the cake. Both want something different, maybe something more, but reaching for it, that's the tricky bit.

Killing the TV with a flick of a finger, his eyes rest on her legs a moment, encased in formal slacks. She's watching him, but he lets them linger another moment.

"House?" Looking at her legs was probably not the wisest move, looking at her face was worse. This was going to get messy.

"Cameron."

"Since you're so in touch with your feelings today, is there anything else you want to apologise for?" Smooth as a scalpel.

"Nope, I'm good."

She throws back her scotch, standing, "Then I guess I should leave you here to wallow."

His eyes flick to hers, "You can't drive. Sit down."

"I'll walk."

"You'll stay." No is not an acceptable answer.

Hands rest on her slender hips, the beautiful, skinny doctor challenging the twisted, old doctor. Pushing himself upright, he steps closer, leg complaining even as the alcohol in his system tells it to shut up. He wants to kiss her, she wants him to kiss her, fear still paralyzing them.

"Goodnight House." She doesn't move, not even flinch. He sways and she almost moves to steady him, his leg must be killing him. Instead she turns to leave, his hand on her arm before she's even turned around, pulling her back against him, the jostling too much as his leg gives out, planting them both messily back on the couch.

Anger swells in her, she's not his to toy with. He had more than enough chances.

"House, I'm leaving. I only came to bring back your card."

"Yeah, obviously, that's why you're still here."

"I'm still here because apparently you still want me here, but you can't come out and say it so instead you come up with lame excuses and when those fail, you grab me! Real mature House."

He wants to snarl, to snark, to punish her for her insolence. Instead, he clams up, unable to articulate, just like she says. Why does she have to be right all the time.

"Fine. I don't like you sleeping with Chase."

"Why not?"

"He's using you. You're better than that."

She smiles, turning and sitting on one of her legs, "But he isn't. I'm using him."

He snorts derisively, "Right."

"You think everybody has judgement as bad as yours? Some of us know how to have a little fun, House." She's leaning forwards, if he wasn't slouched they'd be kissing already. She lets a hand rest on his leg, just momentarily.

"Do you want to have some fun?" Her voice is sweet, tempting, baiting him, he can't refuse her.

His voice feels like it's going to crack, he takes a sip of scotch, trying to calm down.

"What do you have in mind?"

Unfurling, climbing over his lap, eyes roaming across his face, taking in every aspect of him. He can't look away as she presses her lips to kiss, softly, then harder, her lip in his mouth, it's so much better when she's not trying to stab him.

The kiss breaks quickly, she's on her feet.

"Call me."

By the time he reacts, the door has closed behind her. He grits his teeth, the taste of her so fresh, it takes another scotch to expunge her from his mouth.

Tomorrow. He'll call her tomorrow.


	2. Creature Comforts

"Lunch?"

"Sure. Your place?"

"Making me walk is basically torture. Do you want to torture me?"

"See you in a few minutes, House."

Hanging up the phone and tossing it aside, he brooded. There was thinking to be done and he didn't have long to do it in. A beer cooled his nerves, dulled his mind just enough to avoid over-analysis. Would she even be interested now, in the sobering light of day. During the day he was an ass, and she didn't see the kind to be interested in somebody who could only be there half the time. Then again, taking her at face value would probably be unwise. She's grown far too adept at putting up with his bullshit to be completely open. Dark thoughts bubbled and frothed in his cauldron mind, body automatically retrieving another two beers after his was drained dry. It didn't make sense for her to be playing him. He wasn't going to get anywhere with introspection. Drinking would have to suffice.

* * *

By the time the door opened, he was just starting to feel anesthetised to the world. A pizza slammed down on the coffee table.

"Move over." He did so and Wilson sat, "How much have you had to drink?"

Shrug, "A few."

"Any particular reason you've had 'a few' before one on a Saturday?"

"Of course. A very exciting reason that you would love to hear all about."

Wilson nodded, waiting expectantly, "Don't suppose you'd care to share?"

"Nope."

"Ah."

Wilson watched his friend for a moment, before turning on the TV. House would come round, he always did. For now, pizza, beer and mindless television would have to stand in for conversation.

House waited until Wilson was drinking, "Cameron tried to jump me." The explosive spray of amber fluid was impressive, prompting a loud coughing fit.

"Cameron did what?" His eyes were streaming, but he had to be sure.

House stared at him in disdain, "Your beer is soaking into my carpet."

Unable to decide what was more important, Wilson's hands flailed, eventually fetching some paper towels to try and mop up the spill.

As he mopped he stared at House, "What happened?"

"I took your advice."

"Strange, I can't recall telling you to have sex with one of your fellows. I'm glad you had the presence of mind to choose her though. I doubt Foreman would have been very receptive."

"She tried to jump me. Maybe if you stopped ruining my furniture you might notice the nuances of language."

"Not meaning to point out the obvious, but she's not here so..."

"Tried. She tried to jump me. Apparently I have to call her."

"Sounds reasonable."

"So it's immoral to have sex with a subordinate as a spur of the moment thing, but just fine for it to be a premeditated act?"

"Don't be an idiot House."

No response, staring into his beer. He needed to think, so that was the end of lunch, Wilson finishing off his slice of pizza.

"Call her. I'll see you later." House's nod was imperceptible.

* * *

Sleeping in was a luxury that she only rarely indulged herself in. Not enough hours in the day, working for him. She shouldn't be thinking about him in bed, not after last night. If she was going to have a day off, there were things to do and she didn't need to waste time thoroughly enjoying herself, wishing it was him.

Willing the phone to ring didn't work, but then she wasn't sure if it would ever ring. But he was jealous. Smiling, she rolled onto her side, thin tank top hugging tight to her breasts. He was jealous of Chase. It was after midday, she should get up, do something. Her arm began moving, out of her control, reaching for the phone, her eyes closing, complete faith in his powers of omniscience. Breathing steadily, she concentrates, all thoughts lost from her mind, fingers touching the plastic of the phone just as it rings. Eyelids slam up, staring at it, as though it were a dream. Lifting it from the cradle, she stares at the caller ID. House.

"Hello House."

"Cameron."

She listens to his breathing, even down the phone it's obvious he's nervous. Nervous and jealous.

"Did you walk home?" He really isn't good at small talk.

"I took a cab, didn't want you to worry."

He smirks, "You're a valuable resource to the hospital. Can't have anything happen to you."

"Yes, of course."

"So... your car is still here. Are you going to pick it up or should I get it towed?"

"I'll come and get it tonight."

"Good." He hangs up.

Smiling to herself, she pulls the duvet close, eyelids shielding her from the world just for a short while. As her fingers slip into her pyjama bottoms she wonders where she'll wake up tomorrow.

* * *

She was subdued when he opened the door, giving him a friendly smile but nothing more.

"Mind if I come in?"

He nods, "Sure," eyes studying her body language as she steps past him. He leans back against the door, nervous, even in his own home. Bluff.

"So, how bad was the hangover this morning? I'm surprised you can walk."

"Fine, considering I didn't have one. You?"

"Yeah, like I'd notice. Not with these babies." He plucks a vicodin from his pocket, flicking it skywards and catching it in his mouth.

She smiles a sad smile, "House, what happened last night..."

"Forget it, we were drunk." If she refuses to save herself, he should at least try. It'd be kinder in the long run, but the look on her face was anything but accepting of his kindness.

"I don't want to forget it. Do you?" He doesn't connect, eyes down, everywhere but near her. Closing the distance between them, she leaves him nowhere to escape to.

"When I kissed you earlier, did it feel like I was faking?"

"You tried to stab me!"

She rolls her eyes, hands moving up behind his neck to pull him into a slow, sweet embrace. Warmth flows through her body, needing this for so long. No ulterior motives, no tricks, just wanton desire and love. Her assault leaves him breathless, once more swimming in the taste of her lips. It seems like a split second and an eternity all rolled into one before he moves, hands on her hips, kissing back greedily. Perfection.

Pulling back, she peeks through her eyelashes, watching him until his eyes open, staring straight into hers. She wants to say something, to make sure he knows what he does to her, but the words don't come. Instead, a stupid grin flowers, hugging him, hiding her face against his chest before he thinks she's gone mad. Hands move on her sides, patting up and down her, across the small of her back.

"House?" Her voice was quiet, muffled against his chest.

"Yes?"

"I don't have a needle. Stop searching me."

He smiles, "Had to be sure."

"Are you always going to be this annoying?"

"Don't see why not."

Her forehead thumps gently against him before looking up, still smiling, "I'll live."

Loathe as she is to break away from him, it's necessary. Perspective is important. Gliding soundlessly around the couch, she sits in the corner, watching and waiting. He moves to sit, leaving a respectful space between them, mirroring her gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that." Seeing her smiling like that feels wrong, illicit. Any moment now the door will burst open and he'll be dragged off and jailed for corrupting the youth.

Of course, that just makes the smile grow, "I don't want to. I like looking at you. Amongst other things." Her eyes couldn't twinkle more if they were made of diamond.

"Oh god, I think I'm gonna hurl." She just laughs at him.

"Am I that bad? Guess we'll just have to practice more."

"You have very selective hearing."

"I'm a very selective person." Her fingers crawl across the couch to touch the back of his hand, which surprisingly doesn't shy away.

"You're masochistic and insane."

She smiles again, a look that entices and frustrates him all at once.

"A perfect match then."

Gravity draws them inexorably together, her body leaning half across him, the uncomfortable position forgotten as their tongues touch. Arms enclose her, pulling her closer and he gasps, pulling out of the kiss.

"House?"

His muscles tense, face contorted, his scream a whisper, "You are on my leg." Jerking away from him, her face is a mask of horrified compassion.

"I'm sorry, are you ok, I wasn't thinking..." His stare silences her.

"Do you promise not to sit on my leg again?" She nods, platitudes ready to tumble forth if he would give her a chance.

"Good. Now, if you must _insist_ on sitting on me, would you mind not doing it on _that_ leg." Hands guide her until she's sitting sideways in his lap, legs covering, but not pressuring, his damaged thigh. The hands not depart, feeling heat beneath the thin material of her blouse.

"If it'll make you feel better, you are quite good at distracting me." He cocks his head slightly, pulling her close again, their union already second nature. Blue eyes lay her bare, stripping all obfuscation from their entanglement, a conflict of passionately warring tongues, lips and teeth. Even his internal monologue is silent, stripped of speech by her resplendent aura.

He is the first to give, nudging her gently, "Off." Wheeling, she folds her legs under herself, sitting beside him, rolling her eyes as he dives for the remote.

"TV? Really?"

"Thought you weren't going to try change me?"

"Oh shut up." She's at his throat, kissing lightly, "I'm going home. Cuddy asked me to cover the clinic tomorrow and since you refuse to suck up to her, somebody has to."

He snorts, "Sure, nothing to do with your love of helping people or anything."

Patting him, she stands, heading for the door, pausing as he speaks.

"I'll call you."

Nobody notices the smile on her face as she leaves.


	3. Counting Chickens

A day in the clinic is almost relaxing after the hectic hours and patients they normally deal with. House wouldn't agree but she has been known to disagree with him from time to time. Of course they still lie through their teeth, deny everything, admit nothing and generally act like children. When does poking things into orifices become a socially acceptable pastime, she muses, disposing of another pair of soiled gloves. She smiles at the patient (he'd like her thinking that) and sits, jotting everything down before it disappears into the background.

The door opens behind her, a touch of irritation in her voice as her few precious seconds of peace are interrupted. "I'll be out in a minute, just finishing this."

"That's ok, I was just saying hi." God, Chase, why didn't she think of him.

Forcing a smile, she turns, "Sorry, I thought you were a patient or a nurse or," the pause is momentary, and her mind thinks of only one other person, "somebody."

He shakes his head, noticing nothing amiss, "It's fine, don't worry about it. So where were you yesterday?"

Blinking, she opens her mouth, brain lagging behind body, wanting to tell somebody but god, it can't be him.

"I was... out."

"Obviously, otherwise you would have picked up when I called."

"Yeah, sorry. I never checked my messages when I got home." She hates lying, the truth would be cruel.

"Didn't check the messages on your cell either?" He drops his head, looking questioningly at her, "I was worried Allison." The way he says her name, it grates some part of her. Everybody else calls her Cameron (except Wilson, but he's special) so why can't the stupid wombat.

Pushing those thoughts aside, "Chase, I'm fine. Going shopping is pretty safe around here, in case you hadn't noticed."

He's moving closer, hand on her arm, how does he go from sweet colleague and adequate toyboy to creepy obsessive so easily in her mind.

"Ok, I'm just saying. I care."

She nods a little, wanting him gone in the nicest possible fashion, "I... should get back to work..."

His eyes penetrate her, x-raying her lies and finding them just ever so lacking, "Ok." He barely takes a step towards the door before he's looking at her again.

"Allison, you know I like you, don't you?" She nods, feeling her breathing speeding up, fists clenched, head light.

"I need to get back to work." Finally, the door closes behind him and she drops her face to rest in her hands. Why is getting what she always wanted so infuriatingly difficult.

Sighing softly, she grabs the unfinished chart, scribbling rapidly. That's enough, she doesn't have to be here. Dropping it at the nurses station, she makes her excuses. It's not until the car is idling at the exit to the car park that she realises where she was planning on driving.

No cars around, she calls him. Slow to pick up, typical. Click.

"What?"

"I'm done. Are you doing anything?"

He is quiet for a moment, "No. Come round if you want."

"Thanks. See you soon."

* * *

He lets her in silently, eyes assessing and judging her in the peaceful moment.

"Hi." She smiles tiredly, uncertain. Reading her was always easy. Arms slip around her, hugging quietly before limping back to the couch.

"What's up?" Flopping back, the TV blazes into life, volume low.

"Chase wanted to know where I was yesterday." Sitting beside him her head lolls back, eyes closed, hoping the rest of the world would disappear and leave them alone together.

"Hm. What'd you tell him?"

"Said I had gone shopping and didn't check my messages."

"You lied to him."

She frowns, glaring at him, "What did you want me to say? That I was here getting frustrated with you?"

He smirks, "You were frustrated? Hot." She should be angry, mentally cursing herself as she smiles.

"Shut up, House."

Watching her, "You did sleep with him."

Embarrassment wells within her, cheeks blushing as she tries to say something, anything.

"I... I'm sorry. If I'd known what would happen." She searches his eyes for an out, escape, anything.

He just smirks, "I take it that you aren't going to do it again?"

"Of course not! It was just... I needed something... real." Shifting uncomfortably, she finds herself sitting further away from him, his nonchalance frightening.

"Why didn't you ask me?" He's not pulling his blows at all, now she is afraid. Either he doesn't care or he's furious and both are horrifying. She swallows hard, desperately trying to hide the terror assailing her.

"I didn't think..." her voice peters off, unable to proceed without damning herself.

His voice is loud, sharp, "It doesn't matter. If you aren't planning on doing it again, why should I care." She just stares at him.

"I just absolved you. Look happy or something. Oh for god's sake," He bounces over closer to her on the couch, pulling her to his side in a possessive hug. Her entire body trembles slightly and he closes his eyes, praying that she isn't crying.

"Cameron..." That only makes it worse, he cuts his losses, turning and grimacing at the pain in his leg, ignoring it as he pulls her closer, hand rubbing over her back.

She feels like an adulterer, of course he's right and it isn't her fault, but the feeling won't go away that she somehow betrayed him. Wreathing her arms around his waist, she clings, letting the horrid tears stream down her face, pressing closer to his chest to try and hide them. Eventually they slow, emotional baggage discharged.

Sniffing, she wipes her cheeks, mumbling "'m sorry," into the warmth of his shirt.

He nods a little, nosing against her hair, planting a kiss amongst it, "I know. Now be quiet. I'm trying to watch tv."

That makes her smile, "God, you're _such_ an ass."

"I thought that's why you liked me."

"Oh shut up." She's smiling again and she hates him for it, he's far too good at making her forget about the trivial banalities of life. Of course, she loves him for it too.

* * *

He wishes he didn't have to move. Unfortunately, his leg has other ideas, the disfigured limb aching after so much time with even her weight resting against it.

"I have to get up." She pries her arms away, curling up on the couch and watching as he stands creakily, snatching up his vicodin and downing two.

"That bad?" He looks down at her, grimacing before nodding.

"Yeah. Could be worse though." He limps down the hall, turning into what she knows is his bedroom.

"Are you coming?" She blinks, getting to her feet and retracing his steps. Peeping around the door, he's lying on the bed, watching the ceiling. He glances over at her, patting beside him. She must look sceptical, because he rolls his eyes at her.

"Oh come on. I thought pain was a turn-on for you." She frowns sternly, moving to lie chastely beside him, hands on her tummy to avoid any completely unintentional groping.

"I would've brought my whip if I knew you were into that sort of thing." Eyes drifting shut, the bed so very comfortable, it's supremely tempting to fall asleep. Work was tiring, he's always tiring (the good kind) and despite earlier indications, everything seems to be going so _well_.

Rolling onto her side, she opens her eyes to find him watching her. Her arm tentatively extends across him, resting across his stomach. Hooking an arm around her, she is pulled to his side, head resting against his shoulder. His hand is rubbing a lazy circle on her back, eyes closed once more as the serenity soaks in.

* * *

Waking up is an exercise in futility, his warmth and her complete lack of willpower trapping her against him. He's still asleep, her line of vision shifting up and down with every breath he takes. Her hand eases down, fingers nudging his shirt up so she can touch the skin hidden beneath. As her consciousness ascends from the world once more, she smiles.

Perfection.

* * *

Author's Note: Hope everyone is still having fun. Big reviews make me a happy writer ;)


	4. Witching Whom

Author's Note: Turn back all who didn't read the rating.

* * *

Working together wasn't nearly as strange as she expected. In fact, it was almost the same as it had always been. Maybe he was a little less bitter, maybe she was a little less sharp and maybe their snappy witticisms were a touch edgier, the result of a deeper bond than that of colleagues. When his fingertips grazed her hand when she was making coffee she definitely wanted to pin him to the conference table and do terrible things to him. But they were restrained, letting their eyes speak volumes. Same old challenge, extreme new tension.

* * *

When he commanded her to the sleep lab (alone, much to Chase' disappointment) it left her with a strange feeling of déjà vu. Or, at least, she had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what the future held. It wasn't sneaking for long.

"Chinese?"

She looked up at him from her desk, "Sorry?"

Leaning down he speaks deliberately, "What. Do. You. Want. To. Eat. For. Dinner."

"Oh... Chinese sounds... good?" Her eyes question him, trying to elucidate his intentions. He just nods and returns to his office.

Sighing, she follows him, "Are you going to join me, or are you just being uncharacteristically kind to your employees today?"

He faux-frowns, "Now that you mention it, I haven't been myself recently. Wouldn't want anyone to think I'm going soft on you guys. I wonder what could have changed."

It's her turn to lean over the desk, smiling sweetly, "Well, I don't mind as long as you don't go soft on me." She continues to smile at him, engraining the look on his face into her mind, feeling his eyes on her as she sashays back to her desk.

* * *

The patient is sleeping fine, as both of them knew he would. But it's a great excuse to eat (surprisingly good) takeout and be together. She pokes her chopsticks into the rice, sighing.

"Thank you for dinner. It was very nice."

His eyes flick up from his food, still eating, analysing her statement. Tone, inflection, stance, expression, nothing missed. Smiling, he nods and continues eating until he feels her gaze still lingering, smiling dopily at him.

"Could you pretend to be a little less pleased with yourself? You're making my sweet and sour pork one-sided."

It's a terrible joke and she still laughs, "Why can't you just be happy?"

He snarks automatically, "I'm allergic. Don't want to break out in hives."

Rolling her chair closer, she takes his food, setting it aside, kissing him forcefully. He blinks, then kisses back, tongue darting at her lips as she reclines. He raises an eyebrow at her.

"That's it?"

"Do you want some nurse walking in here and catching us making out?"

He shrugs, "Threesomes are fun."

"You're terrible." Watching him, she starts to wonder, was that a hint? Did he want more?

Her smile is hard to contain, "Do you want people to know about us?"

Shrugging again, "Know what? Unless you count this, we're not exactly going 'out', we were both here anyway. Besides, I don't see why it's any of their business." Idiot! He can already see the frown forming over her delighted features like a cold cloud to rain on her burning heart.

"Ok." It's the wateriest one syllable he's heard in a long time.

"Ok? I didn't answer your question."

Now he's just being obtuse. When they're working, it's almost amusing, always educational, but now...

Her voice is strained, "House, I don't want to play games."

"What do you want me to say? I like having you around. If you want to tell people that, then that's fine. Other than that..." His fingers are on hers, subconsciously trying to reassure, as everything his mind thinks of comes up short, not good enough, not what he means, potentially more than she wants.

His eyes follow her as she stands, full of worry. She just smiles, pulling him up and into her arms, squeezing tight.

"I like you too."

In a quiet voice he mumbles, "I never said that."

"I know."

* * *

As the night steadily flooded the hospital, silencing corridors, hushing staff and patients alike, their boredom increased. Nothing was happening. Nothing was going to happen. His EEG showed nothing out of the ordinary and as the patient passed into his second REM cycle, House stood.

"I'm going home. Coming?"

She nods. It's hard to imagine a situation where she would refuse.

* * *

They both have work tomorrow and she has a suspicion that there won't be time for a trip to her place. Wondering if this is his way of getting things out in the open, she splashes water over her face, feeling the day sluice off. After freeing it from confinement, her hair is everywhere, fingers constantly brushing it away. Stepping softly into the bedroom, he is lying on his back, eyes closed, but not asleep. She's sure of that. But he doesn't look, not even to peek, despite how much he wants to.

Settling into her accustomed place at his side, she kisses his chest, happily draped down his body. His arm closes on her, savouring the feeling of so much of her skin so close to his. Of course he has to ruin it in his own special way by pinching her butt, eliciting a squeal.

"House!"

He remains, impassive as a fallen statue as the wind and weather wears it away. Only a slight twitch in his lips, the roaming hand and his undeniable warmth convince her that he still lives.

But why should he have all the fun. Closing her eyes, letting her skin guide her, she finds her fingers weaving across his chest and down his sides, exploring his wiry strength. Stopping abruptly, she feels the waist of his boxers against her wrist, tempting her to sin. That would certainly make tomorrow even more suspicious. Chase, at the very least, knew how she glowed (not Mr Right, but good enough at the time) and she would feel sorry for him. He was sweet. Were it not for House...

Stop thinking about Chase! Scolding herself she slaloms fingernails across his tummy, not sinning, but certainly encouraging sin. The rumble in his chest sounds good too, more lion than man. Her imagination drifts to House with a lions mane, a golden mullet worthy of the worst that glam rock has to offer. The image leaves her smiling even more. Pressing kisses lazily to whatever skin she can reach, she slinks over him, flicking her hair back over her shoulders only to have it pour down like black oil around him. His hand moves with her, smiling as she only just notices three of his fingers tucked into the back of her underwear.

Kissing a trail down his jaw to nibble at his ear, letting inhibitions go, his broad body spreading her legs wide around him, it's driving her mad. She needs release, something, anything, him.

Her voice is husky, "House..." Wiggling her hips she pulls her knees further forwards, pressing as close to him as she can, his desire betrayed, hard against her cotton panties. Swaying from side to side against him, she tests her own limits, the urge to tear the last of their clothing off almost too strong already. Her kisses persist, trying to elicit a response from the slumbering giant.

"Where do you keep your condoms? If you don't answer..." She leaves the empty threat in his ear with a kiss as she rolls off him, easily slipping out of her tank and boyshorts. She lets the garments dangle from her fingers, teasing them over his chest, intent on identifying a weakness in him, before flicking them off his side of the bed.

Curling around him, her fingers go straight down his chest, squeezing his shaft through mercilessly stretched fabric. Although it doesn't ease her need any, teasing him feels amazing, but it can't last, not for either of them. His hips automatically push up as she rids him of the tiresome garment, immediately sitting astride him, fingers touching, teasing, until she arches her back, sliding down onto him.

Unable to pretend she isn't there anymore, the sensation of abandonment completely overtaking him, he opens his eyes, staring up at her, hair writhing across her naked shoulders. His gaze flows over her, hands moving to rest on her hips as he observes, smooth skin flowing into small pert breasts, nipples hard against the air. Her tummy is taut, muscles contracting and relaxing over and over as she rocks her hips, eyes closing as she moans above him.

He begins thrusting up in time with her, her hands moving to his chest, pinning him as a slow, steady rhythm develops. Leaning forwards on him, she grinds, biting her lip, the sensation of skin against skin driving her mad, but it's not enough.

Her voice is a desperate whine, "God House," throwing herself down at him, tongue pushing into his mouth, dueling. His hands on her back, holding her tight, leg aching with every jolt, red hot fingers scorching her pale skin.

He gasps, coming hard inside her, howling her name like a curse. She whimpers, silently collapsing atop him, overjoyed, thankful, relieved, decimated. His fingers slip across her back, sweaty, feeling more alive than he has in years.

* * *

As the afterglow sets in he pushes her gently over, smiling as she reels, hooking her back against his side. As her eyes flutter open, he kisses her, prompting an immediate return to a closed state. Stubble scrapes her cheek as he pulls away, grabbing and downing a vicodin in one smooth motion.

He smiles at her, luminous in the witching hour air, "You're right. I like you."

* * *

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. Leave a review if you like. Also, I'm considering finding a beta for the stuff I post here, if any more experienced fic authors have any advice on whether this would be a good idea, it'd be much appreciated.


	5. Yin Yang

She felt like her skin was on fire. Her curved back was burning from the warmth of his chest, sandwiched so close together. Even if he was an ass some of the time, ok, most of the time, it didn't matter now. Now, they shared a private world that nobody could intrude upon. She sighed, content.

"That good?"

Her fingers rubbed over the back of his, turning her head just enough so that she could see his outline.

"Yes."

He nods, trailing touches down her tummy, feeling her squirm as he dips them temptingly between her legs. Instead of lingering there his hand slides down her thigh, smirking as she breathes again.

Her elbow pokes him, "Don't tease me."

He grunts a laugh, "Won't happen again."

"It had better happen again."

"Make up your mind, woman."

"Or what?" Slithering around in his arms, she pushed herself up in his face, "What'll you do, tough guy?"

Raising his eyebrows a little, he returns her level gaze for a moment before speaking.

"Nothing." Her eyes narrow, watching him momentarily, before settling back against the pillow and his side, smiling.

They cling together, eventually falling asleep, a madness of tangled bodies and souls.

* * *

The clamouring alarm clocks digital speaker was not the way either of them wanted to wake up. House whipped his hand down on top of the beast, silencing it with violence, before letting out a groan into the pillow. She rubbed a hand over his back, smiling sleepily and pressing closer to him, nose to nose. His lips curl, just enough to indicate awareness.

"Good morning." The kiss is slow, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth a fraction, arms cuddling him. Smoothing her tongue over his lip, she hums, wishing that the day could consist of nothing more than this.

As the kiss breaks he grunts non-committally, but the muscles of his arm flex, laying it closer to her back, encouraging the closeness. She decides that while he might not be a morning person, he is an incredibly adorable person, at least before his brain turns on.

"Sleep. I'll wake you before I go." Placing a kiss upon his shoulder, she eases herself from his side, feeling a soreness in her thighs that aches pleasingly, a reminder of last night's activities. Stretching slowly, she pads silently from the room, closing the door to the bathroom and letting the shower run while she washes her face. Steam fogs the mirror before her, slowly obscuring her unadorned beauty.

The shower was better than she imagined, leaving her clean, fresh and warm. Tying her hair back, she returns to the scene of the crime, finding discarded clothes and quickly putting them on. Well after nine, she was already overdue, though conveniently it looked like her boss would be late. Leaving him asleep, she decided not to head straight to work. If it was his plan to get things out in the open, he would just have to come up with something a little more obvious.

* * *

It was early afternoon before she headed upstairs, having spent the morning (what little of it there was by the time she arrived) in the clinic. Chase barely acknowledged her entrance, while Foreman gave her a customary nod. Dropping into her seat she began sorting the mail, a pleasingly mindless task which occupied her all of ten minutes. It was going to be a boring day.

"So where's House?" Chase didn't even look up from the crossword that occupied him. Foreman simply shrugged again.

"Didn't show up this morning." His eyes drilled into her, cocky smile firmly in place. Rolling her eyes at him she calmly extracted a novel from her desk and sat pretending to read it. What could Foreman possibly know. They had left together but surely that wasn't enough for him to suspect anything. Trying to push the thoughts from her mind, she concentrates her attention on the hard boiled thriller.

* * *

Unfortunately, the reason for their bosses absence kept flitting through her mind. Thinking about him was... highly distracting. Sighing, she grabbed the phone, dialling his number and listening to the ringtone. Picking up, she had definitely woken him up, he grunted.

"House? Did you forget about work? Are you coming in?"

He whines, "Do I have too?"

"Well, I don't know your job description exactly, but it seems likely that there would be something in there about doing some work." Such a child.

His grunt is barely audible, "House? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. Just... my leg hurts." She sniggers, feeling as pleased as if he had given her a raise.

"Sounds like that's your fault, not the hospital's, so are you coming in or not?"

"Do we have a case?"

"No, but-"

His voice was coolly insistent, "Then I'm not coming." There was a beep and she was left holding a dead line. She stared at the phone for a second before replacing it on its cradle.

Foreman was the first to speak, "He hang up?"

Glancing over, she nods, trying to look suitably irritated, "Apparently his leg hurts."

"Like that's different to any other day," Chase, it seemed, had been paying attention, "If he's not coming, I'm not staying."

Picking up his satchel, the blonde turned, departing without another word. The remaining fellows watched him depart.

Cameron spoke first, "What was that all about?"

Foreman smirked, prompting an interrogatory stare, "Foreman?"

Grinning and shaking his head, he walked over pulling a chair from the end of the conference table to her desk. Perching on the edge he looks out from under his brows at her, the perfect imitation of House. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to crack and confess all, he shook his head a little.

"I hear that you had another date with House."

Her gob smacked expression was hidden well, but not well enough, "What? From who?"

"From a nurse downstairs. Said you and House were fairly cosy in the sleep lab last night." There was no way anybody could have seen them, the door had no window and they would have seen anybody coming in. Wing it.

"House bought me dinner for making me spend all night here!"

The smug look on his face was infuriating, "Nurse said you didn't spend all night here. She said that you asked another nurse to check on the patient and that you left with House."

Cameron stared at him open mouthed, praying she was giving off an air of disbelief.

"I left because House told me to. There was nothing wrong with John's sleep patterns so he said to go home." She shrugged, frowning askance at her colleague.

Foreman tries to look serious, nodding, "That sounds reasonable," before inquisitively enquiring, "And the hickey on your neck?"

She scoffs "Do you really expect me to fall for that? Wouldn't be a very good doctor if I missed bruised skin on my own neck."

Foreman claps his hands together, whipping his phone out and flicking it open.

"I'll prove it to you. Turn around and lift up your hair." Oh god, could House have really given her a hickey? This is ridiculous. But she can't see a way out, refusal would be an indication of guilt, and she can't walk around with her back to walls all day.

Sighing deeply, she turns, muttering "Fine," under her breath, carefully pulling her pony tail to the side, the incriminatingly fake shutter sound of the phone her death knell.

She turns, snatching the phone from his hand to stare at the picture, the damning evidence.

That asshole!

* * *

Author's Note: Stihl seaking beater two halp wif mai spell'ing and granma. And also because, much like House, I find it difficult to work without a team to bounce ideas off. Plus you're all such _nice, wonderful, kind_ people that I feel obliged to abuse you for personal gain. Mwahahahaha! *cough* Sorry.


	6. Nearly Normal

Author's Note: Spoilers for Fetal Position.

* * *

Cameron glared at the phone, it's little display showing her smooth, cool skin, untainted, unblemished, an illumination of pixels. Her gaze tore upwards, spearing through Foreman.

"There's nothing on my neck!"

He nodded, grinning, "I know. But you thought there might have been..."

"Foreman-"

"It's none of my business, I know."

What the hell was she going to do now? House would hardly appreciate it if she flat out told Foreman, but leaving things as they were would probably just increase the already circulating gossip. Attractive female doctor refuses comment on relationship with older mentor. Sounds like a tabloid headline.

"Foreman, you can't tell anyone, please," she pleaded with her best puppy dog eyes, beautifully expressive. It was a bit low to manipulate him, but deep inside her secret heart, she almost hoped House's kisses had marked her for all the world.

Rolling his eyes, her colleague turned away for a moment, "I'll cover for you. Not for him." Grabbing his bag and heading for the door, he glanced over at her.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing? I know how much you care about him, god knows why, but to people who don't know the two of you... It could look bad."

She smiles at him, Brother Foreman, nodding, "Thank you."

His dark eyes test her for another minute before he nods back, stepping out of the office and strolling away. House would be so mad...

* * *

"This is a bad thing for me... how?"

She stared at him, slack jawed, going to speak when he cuts her off.

"I said I didn't care. Hell, my rep with Foreman's probably going waaay up."

Shaking her head, she leans back against the wall, still amazed at how casually he's taking this. He closes the space between them, leaning heavily on his cane with every step, until she is trapped.

"Why would I be ashamed of you? It doesn't damage me at all. But you..." His hands rest on her hips, "You could be sleeping your way to the top, for all everybody else knows."

Her eyes squeeze shut, cheek against his chest, why does everybody keep saying that.

"I should quit." Now he does look surprised, leaning back to see her better.

"No."

Feeling the statement does not warrant further clarification, he lets her go, moving to collapse on the couch in a very ungainly fashion. His hand goes to his leg, pressing against his useless thigh. She follows immediately, grabbing his vicodin off the coffee table and popping the cap, two pills tumbling into her hand.

"Here." He accepts them silently, closing his eyes as she takes over, fingers pressing against his scars through his jeans. He despises how weak it makes him, but she doesn't seem to care about that. Slumping in the couch, his head lolls back. It feels just a little better when she's doing this.

Out of the blue, he speaks, "What were we talking about?"

Cameron blinks looking at him from her position at his side, "Um, about us."

He nods, "Right. Why do you care what other people think of you?"

"House..."

"Will anybody important think any less of you?"

"No but-"

"Then it doesn't matter. I can't let you leave anyway. Do you know how much a hooker would charge to do this?" She presses down a little harder than necessary, causing him to hiss in pain.

"Be nice, or I'll start charging." Leaning in, she kisses over his rough cheek, "And I hear that hookers don't kiss on the lips."

He frowns, "That would be a waste," eliciting a smile and an incredibly whorish kiss. She had told herself that she wouldn't try and change him, but rewarding him for good behaviour was quite a different story.

* * *

It was late by the time she escaped him, driving home on autopilot. He couldn't be absent two days in a row, and the last thing she needed was Cuddy on her case for injuring the hospitals greatest asset. If that meant they had to take a night off, bad luck for her.

The apartment seemed lonely and foreign to her. Spending so much time at the hospital meant she had never really gotten attached but now it felt distinctly lacking. It was almost worrying how quickly she had adapted to House's presence, and now that it was gone, she couldn't help but feel out of sync with the world leaving nothing to do but sleep and go to work in the morning.

But sleep wouldn't come. The sheets were cold, clean, surgically precise. Just like House. Only the result of their union would be greater than the sum of its parts. Turning, she stared at the phone, willing it to ring, willing him to be thinking the same thing as she was.

He was. Sprawled beneath a different duvet, lamenting the ache in his leg, expecting her to burst through the door and tumble into bed. The palm of his hand pressed down against his thigh, visualising her and feeling the pain lessen, seeping from his mind. Why the hell did she have to leave, or at least why did she have to wake him to say goodbye. Goddamnit. It wasn't this bad with Stacy, why did Cameron have to be so different. Better. Throwing back a vicodin angrily, he descended into a restless sleep and awoke early in the morning surrounded by sheets damp with his own perspiration.

* * *

Walking through the carpark, she spied his car, already parked. It was almost eight, far too early for him to be awake, let alone at work. Did they have a case? No, neither Chase nor Foreman were in, and House was not in his office. Peeking out onto the balcony, she watched him staring out across the hospital grounds, morning sun scoring deep shadows against the wall behind him. Pulling the door open, she joined him.

"Good morning." His head flicks in her direction a fraction, frame stiffening.

"Is it?" He's surly, his leg must be killing him. She moves to stand close, looping an arm around his and resting her hand over his which is crushing the top of the wall in a death grip. Looking down into her face he instantly regrets his sharp words. What Would Wilson Do?

He frowns, "Bad night," knowing she has already forgiven him. Fingers spread, hers slotting neatly in between, he's glad she's here.

Leaning against him, she nods, "Me too."

"Whose brilliant idea was it for you to leave?"

"I didn't want you hurting your leg anymore."

He snorts, looking down at her, "I am capable of sleeping with somebody without _sleeping_ with them, you know. Just because I choose not to restrain myself doesn't mean I can't."

"I thought you might like some space."

"You were wrong."

They stand in silence, his thumb stroking down the side of her hand faintly, eventually mumbling, "Sorry," under his breath.

Her smile is sweet, "Probably good that I put my overnight bag in the car then?" He just nods, letting her pull him around, eagerly collapsing into a slow kiss.

* * *

Pulling the envelope from his pocket, he eyeballed it. What on earth would he want to go to Vancouver Island for? Cuddy was fun to annoy, hell she'd be fun to do other less innocent things to as well, but she couldn't read him as well as she thought. Besides, he already had plans. At least the thick paper of the tickets was satisfyingly difficult to rip. However much she'd spent wasn't a total waste of money.

Easing down onto the couch, vicodin materialising in his fingers, he tossed one back, TV filling the room with ignorable noise.

Slipping in without him noticing, she observed for a moment, his attention devoted to the phosphorescent radiator before him. Acquiring a handful of cutlery, she takes her place on the couch, placing polystyrene take-out cartons on the coffee table, eventually nudging him.

He blinks owlishly, peering at her from eyes dark with contemplation, "Hmmm?"

"Hungry?"

He isn't really, but he nods, "Sure, I could eat."

Her smile is reward enough, "Thought so. It's Thai, I assumed you'd like it."

Nodding again, he leans back, watching her, short sleeved black blouse stretched tight across her body. She smiles as a hand tentatively presses itself against her back, gliding up her spine. Arching forwards she hums her approval, dinner forgotten, any contact feeling amazing after the self-imposed fast that is work. His fingers grip her collar, leading her up and into his arms.

Speaking quietly, his words are intimate and pregnant, "What are you doing for the next few weeks?"

She shrugs, "Clinic I guess. Nothing much to do without you around."

"Take some time off. We could go somewhere." Swivelling around, she eyes him suspiciously.

"You already have plans."

He snarks wildly, "Yeah, I'm totally the kind of guy who likes climbing mountains in my free time."

"No, I mean you planned this. You already know what we're going to do. You assumed I would agree and go beg Cuddy for some time off." Her voice is a mixture of exasperation, annoyance and adoration.

"No. I told Cuddy that you were underperforming and needed some time off. She agreed."

She scowls at him, "Gee thanks, that makes me sound really good. I'm sure Cuddy won't be at all tempted to fire me when she finds out about us now." Launching upwards, she strides angrily into the kitchen, returning with bowls.

Polystyrene screams as her fingers tear it apart in anger, "What do you want to eat?" That the food isn't freezing beneath her gaze is a miracle.

"You're mad at me but still going to feed me? I didn't know you took the Hippocratic oath so seriously." He's so good with words. Only he could make 'you're pathetic' sound like a compliment.

"Just because I'm mad at you doesn't mean I don't love you." The words were out of her mouth too fast to pull them back. Neither expected it and both accepted it as the truth without question.

He tries the truth too, "Cuddy's not going to fire you because she knows."

Her voice is incredulous, "You told her?" This was getting out of hand.

"No. Wilson has a big mouth."

"Of course," she sighs, abandoning the food again, slumping at his side, "Why is everything so difficult."

"I like difficult. Difficult means interesting."

Rolling her eyes, "Difficult means difficult." Dishing up a mixture of savoury delicacies, she hands him the bowl and fork, stealing mouthfuls when she can.

"So where are we going?"

He shrugs, "Thought about Fiji, but didn't know if sun agreed with your vampire complexion."

Elbowing him, she tries not to smile, giving in and sarcastically remarking, "Do you think I'd look good in a bikini?" When he starts to hum and ha in faux uncertainty she elbows him again.

"Bastard."

Nodding, he goes back to consuming the spicy sustenance she procured for him until it is pulled from his hands and placed on the coffee table. Swinging herself onto him, straddling his thighs carefully, she repeats herself.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Just answer the question and you'll get your dinner back." Leaning in, she traps him against the back of the couch, sighing as she feels his hands on her ass.

"House?"

His stubble leaves streaks across her cheek, lips on her neck.

"You'll see tomorrow. Now shut up. I'm groping here."

Dropping her head to his shoulder, she lets out another mournful groan, the effect diminished somewhat by her squeak as his hand slaps hard against the rump of her jeans.

* * *

Author's Note: A huge thanks to my wonderful betas 0penhearts and ponks19. Without them this chapter would have been even more frustrating. Much love.


	7. Potentially Perfect

Author's Note: Mad props to 0penhearts and ponks19 for being my betas. 3

* * *

Her assistant is looking far too plucky for 8AM.

"Dr Cameron called. Wanted to know if you had okayed her leave?" House could be quite persuasive, in a very five year old fashion.

"Oh god. I'll call her. Get me a coffee will you." If her day was going to be miserable, she needed to be awake for it.

Slinging her bag down, she composes herself for a moment before punching in House's home phone number. She let it ring a few times, hung up, hit redial, and connected to a deep groan.

"What?" He was asleep and she woke him up. The morning rays of sunshine creep through her office window symbolically.

Giving just the right touch of innocence, she enquires, "Late night?"

His grunt is noncommittal.

"Well, nice chatting to you. Is Allison there?"

"Who?"

"Cameron."

He groans again, the phone swishing around in the air, eliciting a squeak as the intended recipient of the call gets an antenna in the ribs, "House!"

Managing to extract the phone from his grippy palms, "Uh, hello?"

"Allison, just calling regarding your leave. Give me a call when you want to get away from him and I'll find something for you to do here."

Her blush was almost audible, lost for words, "Oh... ok.

"And don't let him do anything stupid. I want you both back in working order." Stupid like rejecting you out of self-hate. Yeah, she thought, I'm not bitter in the slightest.

"Thank you Lisa."

"You deserve it. You both do. And call me when you want to come back." Placing the phone back into its cradle, her fingers hang ominously over the numbers. She didn't mean to be pessimistic, but House was House. If more people knew, it might almost be fun to bet on. Wilson would know and was only a page away. Convenient.

* * *

Cameron wormed back against House's side, smiling contentedly as his arm reflexively closed around her. Stretching over him, she poked the phone onto the nightstand, taking a moment to kiss across his chest as she relaxed.

"What did Cuddy want?"

"Just wanted to say hi." She smiles, stroking a finger over his torso.

He grumbles, moving to catch her hand in his, flattening it down against his skin and patting when she stays.

"So what's my surprise?"

His groan echoes around the room, "Later."

Slipping from his grasp, she watches him for a moment, before reaching brazenly beneath the covers, grasping him teasingly and leering as his eyelids levitated.

"Now."

He smirks. Her forcefulness is tempting and she knows it. It doesn't matter how frequently she pulls the exact same trick, it always gets the same reaction, which always makes her smile. Fingers dance over cotton as she touches, each time a little harder, her lips curling more as she abuses his patience.

"Cameron..." He needs her and she loves it, sliding back on her knees and kissing trails of fire down his body. Flitting her gaze up at him every few seconds, she purrs, catching the offensive fabric of his boxers and dragging them down. His head falls back as warm air washes over him, a tongue darting teasingly.

She presses her cheek against him, smooth, gazing tempestuously upwards, "What's my surprise Greg?" He is in hell, fingers running through her hair.

"You'll like it."

"What _is _it?" she says in a way that makes his breath stutter and muscles thrash beneath his skin. Meanwhile she just smiles up at him, scoring the tips of her nails wickedly down his stomach.

"Dinner." God he's weak. Her expression doesn't change.

"Good boy. Where?" Stretching, she settles in against him, hair flicked across his damaged thigh as her tongue dances across him, before he is engulfed.

Fisting her hair in his grasp, he shudders, unable to answer until she brushes her teeth over him.

"Youdon'tknowit!"

Frowning, but not stopping, she gives him puppy dog eyes, pulling back a little to lick over the tip.

"I might know it, if you tell-" Silenced, his hips thrust up into her mouth, fingers squeezing the base of his shaft, lazily jacking him off into her mouth. Sealing lips only increase his moans, driving him mad. Let him have a little fun.

The fist in her hair tries to pull her away, "Cameron..." His voice is panicked, leaving her smiling as she hums and he comes. Swallowing quickly, her attention wanes, teasing him until he's finished before crawling up to snuggle in against him. Kissing his neck, she purrs as the duvet slithers up to envelope them once more.

"So... where are we going?"

His voice flows, thick as molasses, "If I wasn't feeling very relaxed right now, I would murder you."

"Tell me!"

He smirks, leaning his head until his temple rests against her forehead.

"It's in Soho. Happy?"

She's surprised, but tries not to let it show.

"Should I dress up?"

He nods just enough for her to feel the movement, "I think so."

"At least then you'll have something nice to look at if the meal is bad." Pushing closer, she places another soft kiss on his jugular.

Humming, his fingers massage over her lower back, "The food will be good." Squeezing her close, he continues, "And you're always nice to look at."

She blushes brilliantly, kissing him again, "Shut up."

Snickering, he does.

* * *

Leaning heavily on his silver handled cane, he watches her carefully restraining her hair, the process fascinatingly elaborate. A ribbon tied close to the scalp, pulling the loose conglomeration of shimmering darkness together, riddled with hair pins, forming a tight knot, several strands flowing easily outwards. She is stunning in a slinky, yet modest dress. Her elegance is undeniable and it's very tempting to remind her of that.

All the while, he is being watched, her eyes taking in the lightly worn suit, a soft grey-blue that brings out his eyes. It's years behind the latest trends of course, but he carries it off with a mysterious air of respectability, like some eccentric professor. A self-indulgent smile crosses her lips as she stands, gliding over to him, head cocked. He nods a little at nothing in particular.

"Ready?"

Shaking her head, she smiles, tongue parting her lips slightly, "Not yet."

Arms slip around his neck, dragging him into a warm kiss. Pulling back, her eyes speaking volumes, she nods.

"Lets go."

Stepping out onto the rooftop garden, lightly scattered with tables of diners, was like stepping into a dream. A dream which, in her childhood, had always featured a Prince Charming and not a vicodin-addicted grouch, she thought with a smile. Two flights of stairs had killed his leg and despite trying not to let it show, she could tell. Clinging to his side, she lets him lean on her until they are directed to a table far from the door.

But nothing, not even his diplomatic silence, can begin to sour this. They're here, on a proper date, in public. He's been nothing but a gentleman. Not to mention the little stirring in her tummy every time he looks at her quite like _that_ and smiles. Proper, cheerful, happy smiles. She can't remember the last time he smiled like that in public unless he was ridiculing someone or high.

"Thank you."

He looks up from his menu, "For what?"

"For this."

He snorts, grinning, "Normally we men pay for dinner before the sex. But if you want to call it even..."

Smiling she nods patiently, waiting for his prattling to cease, "Shut up Greg."

Giving another little snort, he returns to the menu.

* * *

Killing the engine, she looks over at him dozing against the window. Too much alcohol and vicodin.

"House. Time to move." She reaches over smoothing his hair back, easing him into wakefulness.

"G'way..." His right eye slits open, peering at this intruder in the vale of lost memories.

"Inside, bed, then sleep."

Climbing out, she whisks around to help him, to which he has no response. It's not until he's in bed, listening to her electric toothbrush whirring away that he speaks.

"I had fun tonight."

Nothing, no response until she pads across the carpet, easing in beside him, "Me too."

He looks over at her and the weight of it is on him. Any chance of getting away unscathed is obliterated before her gaze. She loves him and the feeling is mutual.


	8. Listless Lovers

Authors Note: I finally got the inspiration & time to finish this mini-chapter which I started about 10 weeks ago. Happy Birthday Jennifer.

* * *

As she wakes, it becomes apparent he is not in bed, partially because of the cooling sheets but mostly because the screaming of an electric guitar coming through the wall. Trying to ignore it doesn't work, especially when he toes the fx peddle and the wail turns into a riotous cacophony of noise.

Tossing duvet and sheets aside, she strides angrily out, staring at him, half-dressed and rocking out, eyes screwed up tight against the discordant symphony.

"House!"

He pauses, peering at her irritation, pushing his chin out a little trying to slice past her disapproval. It doesn't work.

"Too loud. Sorry." He's not sincere, but it's his own brand of insincerity that softens her anger. Besides, her ire was drawn by his absence, not his taste in prog rock. Padding across the rug she nudges him down into his chair, settling in his lap, displacing the Gibson.

Leaning back, her smiling visage inspects his face before sighing into his neck, "I don't know if I want to go back."

House smirks, twitching an eyebrow up, questioning, "How else were you planning on paying for our life of simian excess?"

The smile and pat of her hand on his chest is the expected response, "Don't bring your reality into my fantasies." Her fingers trail about, tracing the edges of his open shirt, "I just don't want to go back to being," she stumbles for the words, "work us. At work." It made more sense in her head, but he understands.

"We don't have to. I only agreed to go back because you said you wanted to."

"I do! Can't I have both?"

His nod is curt, "Sure."

It's an impossible promise, but it still makes her smile.

* * *

Perhaps it's rose tinted glasses, but things do seem different. Nobody else notices; another little secret they can share. But his new-found professionalism is beginning to grate. His penetrating gaze across the conference room tells her all she needs to know; he's teasing, testing, torturing her.

Cornering him in his office after the others fled from this new, disturbing House, she "Are you having fun?" Her smile is dry, peering through thin glasses.

"Of course. Are you?" He peers up from the latest Metroid.

Stepping closer, she slides a letter across the desk, more fan-mail from the terminally incurable.

"I'd be having more fun if we were at home."

He snorts a little, eyes returning to his game, "So would I. But Cuddy bashing the door down looking for us might be a little distracting."

Smiling, Cameron leans closer so that her words are the only thing he hears.

"Fine. Come find me when you get bored with your game." As soon as she turns his eyes are devouring her sway, feasting on every element. He manages to resist until he finishes the level.

* * *

The sleep lab is locked, his illicit key allowing access just long enough to slip through. The monitors are dark, she's killed them, and the door to one of the labs is closed. Pushing it open he smiles at the sight of lace, rich and red as her lips. Her silence follows him as he nudges the door shut, leaning heavily on his cane. The thin folds of cotton draped around her arms are more reminiscent of a statue than of a living, breathing, loving soul. He taps over, sitting down, hip pressed to her side.

A quaver in her breath is all the weakness he needs, his hands spreading wide across her stomach, feeling the cool skin that he has been denying himself all day. She sticks to his fingers; if her muscles were any tighter she would squeak like a whiteboard as he drags fingerprints across her form to paw at her bra momentarily.

They're too far apart. Too far. He falls, lips pressed tight, pulling clothes away, desperate to feel her naked again, needy in his arms. The taste of her sweat dances over his tongue as her head rolls aside, neck vulnerable, tender. It seems like only seconds and he's in her, frantically fucking, 7 hours at work a lifetime too long. Then the moment completes itself, she bites him, his back arches, tensing and relaxing in harmony.

Holding him still, she sighs, work won't wait forever.

His kiss to her ear silences the sadness, "Still want to go home?"


End file.
